


Duty's End

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Just this once, I think we can cast the rules aside...





	Duty's End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/gifts).

“Your...dreams?”

Cullen’s hand stuttered a moment at the abrupt question before he went back to cleaning his sword. The bout had been hard-won. “Gone, thank the Maker.” His voice was quiet with memories. “I should have believed you.”

The days of agony and restless sleep had eventually passed, though he’d once had his doubts. In the months since the fall of Corypheus, he had continued working closely with the new Divine. He looked around Skyhold’s courtyard; the horde he’d grudgingly accepted was gone, finally granting them privacy even here. Josephine’s victory party had been so in more ways than one. Few nobles had any reason to stay after such an event and were quickly aided in their departure and provided with escorts of Inquisition soldiers ready to take up the lives they’d set aside to aid the Herald.

“You should have.” One corner of his mouth turned up. The fondness in her voice was unmistakable after so long working together. “You are too stubborn for your own good, Cullen.”

“And you are not, Most Holy?” He let his own voice show a similar gentle edge. She made a disgusted noise at the title. “Surely there are duties in Val Royeaux.”

Cassandra sat next to him. “There are. Leliana and Grand Cleric Giselle are handling them for the moment. Politics, building support, administration…” She sighed. “Perhaps I should have been less eager and refused.”

He resheathed his sword. “That’s not like you, Cass.” He stretched his legs - if he didn’t want to stiffen, he would need to move soon. Neither of them were as young as they used to be.

“What will you do now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “For the moment, the Inquisitor still has need of me. There are still rifts and the last of Corypheus’ forces. After that? Perhaps I’ll return to Honnleath.” Now he stood. The old wound that would eventually become a limp was, this time, merely an excuse to pace - one he didn’t need to explain to another warrior with deep scars of her own. “There are none that need a failed Knight-Commander.”

She joined him, arguing as always. “You did not fail.” Her voice quieted. “You were failed, Cullen. The Seekers...how long since they were what they were meant to be? Perhaps it is best we are disbanded. Our time has passed.”

“You can’t believe that. The Inquisitor was upset, rash -”

“The Inquisitor,” Cassandra interrupted, “was right.” They moved together into the cool shadows of his office, the stairs up to the battlements familiar enough he hardly noticed until he ushered her in. The servants who remained were even more attentive than before; there was breakfast for two set on his desk.

Cullen snorted at the sight. “Join me?”

She hadn’t - not since their desperate flight from the ruins of Haven to Skyhold had they eaten a quiet meal together. She shifted, her shirt hanging in the same partly-dried folds as his. Her profile in the ray of light from his window - he suddenly realized, she was a beautiful woman.

“I shouldn’t.”

He reached out to touch her hand. “Please, Cassandra. I hadn’t planned this, but I’m glad of it.”

The words hung for a moment. The former Seeker licked her lips. She also didn’t leave or withdraw, even as he reached out with his other hand and traced a cheekbone with his thumb. “We shouldn’t. There are -”

He knew all the objections. She was Divine, for Andraste’s sake. Nothing permanent could come of this. But what had either of them known of permanence? The Chantry’s rules vanished under the new way her eyes studied his. Long fingers entwined with his.

“Yes, there are rules,” Cullen whispered. She was nearly as tall as he. They had both lived by the rules of the Chantry. “Just this once,” he murmured as he tipped his head just enough to meet hers rising, “I think we might cast the rules aside.”

Breakfast sat on his desk, forgotten.


End file.
